


CALANDO

by VOICESS



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Death, Depressing, Heavy Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sad Ending, big feels, chensung - Freeform, i cried while planning and writing this, i'm so sorry chenle, it starts to look up and then just goes downhill, jisung is a realist, oof, pianist!chenle, sick!jisung, too many death analogies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VOICESS/pseuds/VOICESS
Summary: "why are you fading away?"in which child prodigy chenle meets a boy with terminal disease and falls in love.
Relationships: Park Jisung & Zhong Chen Le, Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 13
Kudos: 27





	1. estinto.

**e . stin . to**

_/eˈstinto/_

_adjective, meaning as softly as possible, lifeless._

\- ❐ -

Jisung Park hated blue ink. The masked doctor had used a blue pen to diagnose him, explaining his situation to his family in a hushed tone while the neatly printed words “ _terminal heart disease”_ mockingly stared him in the face. So many emotions had invaded his mind back then, but the most prominent one had to be denial. There was no way that he, out of all the eighteen-year-olds in the world, had been chosen to die this early in his life.

Jisung liked to think that his life would have been better, had the circumstances been different. His childhood had been normal and filled with happiness, and aside from the occasional hospital checkup, he had never needed to visit the plastic white walls of the clinic. Even on the days where he did end up in the waiting room for his pediatrician, they had always been accompanied by a lollipop and sticker, ending with a grinning black-haired boy who didn’t give the visits a second thought. His parents would treat him to dinner afterwards, even buying him his favorite melon-flavored ice cream if he had gotten a shot. Oh, what Jisung would give now to go back to those carefree days.

His mother had always called him cynical. Jisung preferred the word realist. Even as a child, he had always wondered about the meaning of life and death, reading all the books he could about what it meant to live one’s life to the fullest. He was never overly pessimistic about anything in the world, but it became increasingly prominent as he grew older that humans were slowly going down the road of their own demise. Climate change, devolving governments, and the overpopulation of the earth were just more things adding to the eventual end, and then rebirth.

When he had tried explaining this to his very stressed-looking mom, she only brushed him off with a disbelieving shake of her head, remarking,

_“Kids these days.”_

He hadn’t been able to convince her, sure, but there was always a way, and he would be the one to figure it out.

Jisung had always wanted for there to be solutions, even though oftentimes he believed that the ones he was offering them to didn’t deserve them. For example, the kids who had teased him for being clumsy in second grade never needed to give him a bruise. But, they did, and Jisung had to tell them that it was okay when the teacher came around and made them apologize even when he knew that they wouldn’t stop at all. Despite their seemingly cruel natures, Jisung knew that they only were following the leader, and that they had no choice but to continue the painful cycle.

Even though it left him with scars and aching arms, he could understand that it arguably hurt more for them. Sometimes, he wondered if it was worth it, sacrificing his well-being just because someone else couldn’t find the courage to stand up to their commander. It often caused him quite a bit of contemplation, but in the end he always reached the same conclusion. Things would come back around, and there would always be something better that came after all this suffering. Plus, the sweet satisfaction of revenge was never something he would opt out of if he didn’t have to.

It had never occurred to Jisung that being an only child was a privilege. But, the more he thought about it and the more he started to overhear his classmate’s complaints about their younger or elder siblings, the more the pieces started clicking. Maybe the reasons why he wasn’t as popular was because he didn’t have these things to complain about. After all, all of the kids with a lot of friends were always talking about their relations. What could Jisung say that was on that level? Parents just weren’t the same in that sense, and that was understandable even to Jisung’s little third-grade brain.

So, one day, Jisung asked his mother if there was a way he could get a baby brother or sister. He recalled his father spitting out his morning coffee, and that had caused a lot of laughter. She had been taken aback as well, but after helping to clean up the mess had given Jisung a short but simple reply.

_“Jisung, I know this idea of a younger sibling might be enticing to you, but Mommy and Daddy don’t want to have another kid. You’re enough for us, you’re our everything. Do you understand that, baby?”_

She had been tearing up, and Jisung reached out to give her a tissue because he was a good son. That had been the end of discussion, since he had needed to leave for the bus, but the subject was never brought up again. There was no need, since his mom had said no and he was going to respect her. 

_-_ ❐ _-_

It was a good thing that Jisung had managed to find a friend in middle school, because otherwise, he didn’t know how he would have survived. Transferring was probably one of the best decisions his prepubescent brain could have made, and even though the prospect of having to reintroduce himself to an entirely new crowd of people was terrifying, at least he wasn’t being lowkey abused by the same kids for three years anymore. He had managed to make it through his first year as a sixth grader without any big bumps, blending in perfectly with the crowd and making the grades that his family wanted him to.

However, he always felt as if something was missing, a passion that he was supposed to have, something that would drive him forward and turn him into a person worth watching. Jisung spent a long time contemplating what this thing could possibly be, writing down his discoveries of what sparked an interest in his passion journal in hopes that one day he could connect the dots and finally figure out his purpose. 

Now, enter Lee Jeno. The blonde-haired boy seemed to be everything that Jisung wasn’t. He was on the older side of his grade, popular with everyone (especially the girls,) and had all the social connections one would ever hope for. He was captain of the soccer team, held multiple awards for sports and academic achievement, and even was treasurer of the student council. Jisung had never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would be able to attract the attention of someone as revered as Jeno at his school, but fate had other plans for the lanky eleven-year-old.

After witnessing Jisung’s detailed philosophy project on the ideas of Confucius and Aristotle, Jeno had approached him after class, offering him a position on the debate team. When Jisung denied his request and scampered away, Jeno approached him the next day, still wearing his signature eye smile and with another offer. Jisung had raised his eyebrow suspiciously when Jeno had asked him the second time. 

  
  


_“Friends? Why would you want to be friends with me?”_

Jeno had chuckled at that, shaking his head in disbelief. With a bit of an exasperated tone, he had replied, 

_“What’s so hard to believe about it? I want to be friends because you seem like a cool person, and I’ve never met someone like you before.”_

  
  


Jisung had been struck speechless by that, and with no other choice than to accept, he grudgingly held out his hand and let the other shake it enthusiastically. That was the moment when their friendship blossomed, and a whole other world was opened for the teen.

He slowly started to come out of his shell, entering quite a few writing competitions and putting his constant thinking and questioning to use. Jeno even introduced him to the hip hop club, where he fostered a newfound passion for the art. 

Dance was something startlingly different from any of Jisung’s previous endeavors, and perhaps that was why he liked it so much. It was a fresh breath, a restart of sorts for him. Jeno had always told him that he had a knack for picking up the swift movements, and Jisung merely shrugged him off with a scowl. But Jeno was right, in some sort of weird way. Jisung found that it was easy for him to feel the music that blared through the speakers, and his body just moved with the rhythm. It was something that no matter how long he spent pondering the reasons for it, he could never truly get to the bottom of.

Both his fascination and determination to master whatever this new challenge was helped him gain both self-confidence and the attentive eyes of his upperclassmen. He quickly found his place in the club, climbing his way up and even becoming one of their choreographers in eighth grade. Inspired by his seniors to dye his hair, Jisung managed to talk his mom into letting him try sky-blue, and showed up to school a newborn legend. It felt nice, getting all this attention for something he enjoyed doing. Perhaps things were finally looking up.

_-_ ❐ _-_

As Jisung continued exploring the giant realm of modern dance, the times also changed. High school had come around, and the extra homework load was arguably worse than the workouts that he had to do on the daily. Luckily, the sapphire-haired boy was able to attend the same school as Jeno, and combined with his friend’s everlasting social personality, Jisung managed to make quite a few other friends along the way.

The crew he grew to call his family was arguably more chaotic than Satan could ever aspire to be (if he was even real in the first place,) since their combined loud and exuberant personalities could never be contained. Jisung liked to joke that they were playing parts in a movie, with Donghyuck as the outspoken theatre kid, Mark as the nerdy English tutor, Jaemin as the star-smile basketball player, and Jeno the perfect balance amidst the noise.

Oftentimes he would put on his disgusted face and telling all of his friends to “stop pulling my cheeks, damn it,” but he knew that it was their way of showing they cared, and for that he was ever-grateful. Even though he was the youngest by far, he loved how he was treated as an equal, because that was how the world worked and he preferred to stay true to society’s expectations. 

To Jisung’s surprise, the high school he attended didn’t have a hiphop team, and with some prodding from his childhood friend and many other dancers he met during his first semester, Jisung finally worked up the courage to propose one to the student council committee. After a week-long period of waiting, the official club bulletin board was put up, and with it a poster for Jisung’s founded dance team.

He and his fellow members (Newsies was their name) worked tirelessly, day and night, to come up with their own dances and revel in the art together. Sometimes, Jisung would stay back after school just to be in the space they met in. The practice room they shared with the ballet club held a special significance for him, and even though the smell of sweaty feet and makeup wipes could be overwhelming at times, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He would do homework there, maybe test out a few new moves, or just let go and freestyle until his shirt was soaked through. Jeno and Jaemin would often join him whenever he could, with Donghyuck occasionally popping in to say hello while dragging Mark with him. Most of the time, they would respect his no-yelling rule, and even would try to let him focus.

It was nice, not having to speak over the noise. 

For some reason, Jisung had never wanted to show off his artistry to anyone else. Sure, Jeno would always clap for him when he was done choreographing and wanted someone to hype him up, but it had never been something which he needed or particularly cared about. Jaemin was the first person who Jisung met that had introduced this idea of a public performance to him. After the club’s first introductory meeting, Jisung had been packing up his water bottle and backpack when someone tapped him on the shoulder and interrupted his cleaning. 

_“Ya, Jisung-ah! That show was really good, how come you’ve never put that out on YouTube or something?”_

The lilt to Jaemin’s voice was one of his most defining traits, so Jisung could easily separate him from everyone else. Whirling around so he could face the other, the freshman replied in a calm manner,

_“It’s never been a priority to spotlight myself in the public eye.”_

Jaemin let out a whistle at that, letting out a short bark of laughter before continuing. 

_“Always so dark, gosh. I think it would be such a waste to dance like THAT and not let the entire world see you! Haven’t you ever thought about all the likes you would get? The friends you would meet? The famous stars who would notice you?”_

Jisung stopped his actions at this, quirking his head to the right. 

_“Why would that matter? Dance is just something I do for myself, it’s not like that’s what my life plan is.”_

The caramel-eyed sophomore pouted, rolling his eyes a bit.

_“Yeah yeah, I don’t think a lot of us who showed up today plan to pursue dance as a career either. But still, that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t broadcast your talent! I mean, even if it doesn’t mean anything to you, some random kid in the world could be inspired by you and then start dancing too! What I would give to have someone idolize me like that…”_

Jaemin had gone off on a little rant after that (which Jisung quickly tuned out,) but the elder’s words still stuck with him. He did have a fair point. Thus began the expansion, as he so liked to call it. No, it didn’t have any connection with Westward Expansion, that was from fourth grade and the bandwagons were filthy and filled with horrible people anyways. It was just the code name for Jisung’s scouting of venues and platforms to advertise his team on.

As time passed, he gained quite a few admirers (Jaemin had ambushed him in a hug when he found out, telling him that “of course I was right, how could you ever doubt me,” while Jisung had tried to get him off) and even been taken up on some of his offers. The Newsies attended and hosted many dance-in-public challenges, and even made it to a local competition where they won second place. Jisung had never felt more on top of the world than the day when he held the silver medal up for the camera, jubilantly beaming while surrounded with his exhausted but happy teammates.

_-_ ❐ _-_

However, as the saying goes, nothing good lasts forever.

One day, Jisung was approached by a shaking Jeno and told that the principal had cut funding, and that they would have to stop going to competitions. The slim-figured boy had felt crushed, as if all the air had been drained from his lungs, and when he collapsed on the floor, unable to breathe, the last thing he saw was Jeno hovering over him with an expression of pure, unadulterated hysteria.

It was ironic, Jisung thought wistfully as his vision slowly faded to black, how even the best of people were forced to go through the worst of things. 

Jisung came back to reality in completely different surroundings. Instead of the color-filled and lively halls of his high school, all he could see was corridor after corridor of coughing and pale-faced patients, dressed in the chalky white that surely followed with death. Something started to itch in the back of Jisung’s mind, but he used the last of his strength to gaze around, making eye contact with the sign “EMERGENCY CARE.”

The dawning horror of his future started to kick in, and the first thing he did was scream. It took a few nurses and a mask filled with sleeping gas to calm him down, but it didn’t change the fact that Jisung knew what was going to happen to him. Even as Jeno had sprinted into his room, clutching his phone and sweatshirt in his hands with tears streaming down his face, Jisung felt absolutely nothing.

There was some pity for Jeno, because the poor boy didn’t deserve to have to deal with the trauma of seeing his friend almost die, and there was some pain as well, seeing as he had literally just fallen to the floor, but in all honesty, he was beyond emotions.

Life was like a ferris wheel, starting low, going up, and then ending low. Right then and there, in that moment, was the tipping point for Jisung, when he finally realized that there truly was no going back, and that soon he was going down and never coming up again. The salty droplets raining down from Jeno’s eyes left trails on his sickly skin, and even as the whole group trickled in and offered their own ways of expressing sadness, Jisung had never felt more alone.

Saying nothing was easier than filling the silence with empty words, so he kept his mouth zipped tightly, in hopes that his thoughts wouldn’t fall out and become someone else’s burden.

After all his friends left, his parents had come in with the same red-rimmed noses and fearful irises, and the whole process was repeated but with twice the agony. His parents were everywhere, wiping this, checking that, kissing this, holding that. It was something akin to a sensory overload, where Jisung became hyper aware of their every move. Thank god he hadn’t gotten that sibling he asked for, because he would never forgive himself if they had to go through this. The atmosphere around them was stocked full with fear and despair, and Jisung was ready to be done with it all. 

Jisung had learned about the five stages of grief. As he heard the diagnosis of his terminal disease, he felt the first cog start turning. The wheel of death was turning, and he was the one being passed along the belt towards the very end. A week passed like the blink of an eye, and when the doctors left and his parents were done reassuring him of something _they would never get back,_ he pulled out a pen, scribbling his list onto the napkin lying on his bedside table. 

  1. Denial - ✔︎
  2. Anger
  3. Bargaining
  4. Depression
  5. Acceptance



Very grim, he was well aware. It didn’t matter though, nothing he did really would. The only real course of action, now that Jisung had spent his whole life preparing for something and then having every bit of hope shot down, was to compile lists. Managing tasks, getting things done, that was one of Jisung’s fortes.

If his time left on Earth was limited, so be it, he needed to either figure out what he needed to leave the living world having done, or to end it quickly. At this point, Jisung was truly glad for his practical mind, since he knew many others in his situation would be acting drastically different. Maybe this is what the kids in elementary school meant when they called him a freak or a weirdo.

Pulling out the napkin so it was now in portrait mode, Jisung wrote out another list. 

  1. Finish Baby choreo
  2. Say last goodbyes to friends
  3. Visit grandparent’s graves
  4. Publish the philosophy book
  5. ... 



His pencil hovered over the fifth number, and even after digging through his entire arsenal of life goals, Jisung could find nothing. Groaning in frustration, he threw his pen across the room, hearing it bounce on the tiles with a satisfying plink and then rolling until it came to a still. There were still flaws, and he would find a way to add something to this, the final touch to his life. But for now, he would let it be, and bide his time in hopes that the inspiration would come to him for the last time.

Park Jisung wasn’t ready to die, but there was never any choice in the matter. 

_-_ ❐ _-_


	2. fermata.

**fer . ma . ta  
** _/fərˈmädə/_

_noun, meaning a pause of unspecified length._

People always said that life went on, that things got better, and that everything would be just fine. All Zhong Chenle ever picked up from the adults and senior figures of his childhood were these particular beliefs, and they were ingrained into his mind until they became the only truth that he could see. He was given the gift of a musical ear, his talent was unmatchable, and his parents were the driving force behind everything that he did and chose. 

Sometimes though, he wanted to ask, why wasn’t it okay to be sad? Was it normal to feel like absolute shit every time he did something he supposedly loved? Was he a freak for not wanting to look his judges and the sea of malicious audience members in the eye? Was it okay that he wanted to do something else, something other than the path he was on now? 

_-_ ❐ _-_

Chenle grew up in the most affluent family of his hometown. Perhaps they were the richest of any town a hundred miles away, he wasn’t really sure. However, the powerful and infamous title of the Zhong family still stood. His father was the head of a very successful engineering company, and his mother the chairman of Samsung’s China outreach program. Many liked to call them a power couple, their vivid visuals combined with their deadly drive to create a lethal duo that got anything and everything they desired. You could imagine the kind of pressure this put on young Chenle, the first and only son who would inherit both his parent’s fortunes and responsibilities as he grew older. From the very first moment he entered the world, Chenle only ever saw the flash of a picture being taken, felt other people’s pupils tracking his every achievement, heard fragments of words (about him) exchanged with chattering mouths. It seemed like every single inhabitant of mainland China had their own vision and opinion of who Chenle would become, and it was most definitely impossible to live up to these somewhat extreme expectations. 

While his mother and father basked in the paparrazi, Chenle shrunk away. While gossip swept through every educational institution he attended, Chenle begged to be homeschooled. While his younger sister loved the sound of the click of a camera, Chenle would flinch at the harsh and unforgiving sound. While the crowds of businessmen at a press conference excited Mr. Zhong, Chenle’s one and only instinct was to run to the nearest bathroom and empty his stomach into the toilets. While his parents filed numbers after numbers of earnings, Chenle only found comfort in the round and sweet notes of a major scale. 

Music in itself was not something that he had ever expected to enjoy, let alone have an affinity towards. Due to the extremely data-driven and number-inclined professions his parents had chosen, most people had expected the Chinese male to go down a similar route, honing interests in the more STEM-oriented part of the world. However, when (as his mother liked to tell it) Chenle came out of the womb crying in falsetto, they had known that something else much more artistic was in store for their son. His parents had prepared for this by bombarding him with every single type of musical piece that he could ever ask for, constantly having Chenle listen to pieces and sing what he heard back to them. Mr. and Mrs. Zhong had been overjoyed when they found out that their son was a tenor, and gifted with perfect pitch. What kind of lucky coincidence was this? It almost seemed too good to be true.

The first instrument Chenle played was the piano. He had first seen one when his mother had taken him to a gala, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pristine white piece of wood that was emitting such beautiful melodies. While the other toddlers his age were busy playing in the corner or clinging to their parents, Chenle had merely sat down on a cushion, closing his eyes and letting the unfamiliar yet soothing sounds take over his senses. The piece he had heard was the Fantasie Impromptu by Chopin, and Chenle found himself lost in the wave after wave of intense, yet unnamable emotion. When the person at the bench stood up and bowed, Chenle slipped out of his mother’s arms and quickly ran to find them, almost tripping over his dress shoes in a haste to catch up to them.

“Sir?” 

Yes, some people found it strange that Chenle had such uptight manners. It wasn’t really something that was surprising, since he had been taught from a young age to have a good first impression. However, Chenle truly realized how inexperienced he was when the player he sought out was actually wearing a dress and lipstick.

“Oh, hello there, little boy! Are you looking for your parents?” 

He had blushed back then, shaking his head and then clasping his hands together in a praying motion. 

“I’m so sorry for calling you Sir! I just thought that whatever you just did on that white block was very nice, and I wanted to say thank you!” 

The performer had looked very touched, and maybe even a bit impressed. Her face lit up in a dazzling smile, and she reached down to pat Chenle’s head. 

“It’s no worry! I must say, you don’t seem to act your age. Most kids wouldn’t be able to appreciate this kind of music.” 

Chenle nodded, forming his lips into a small pout.

“Mhmm, I’ve always been told that!! For some reason, it’s considered weird that I like listening to you play! I really like piano pieces, especially Romantic period stuff, and it was just my first time seeing a piano in real life, let alone someone playing it!” 

The elder woman chuckled, nodding in understanding. 

“That’s something us classical musicians like to call the ‘musician’s conundrum.’ Music is something that only a select few of us are able to decipher, and while everyone has some aspect of admiration for it, most just go about their days without much thought as to what the hidden meanings behind every note are. However, it seems like you’re one of the rare diamonds in the rough who can see beyond just what lies at first glance.

I can tell there’s something about you, honey, that’s unique and unlike anything the world will ever see. I hope that one day, you’re able to use this ability that you have and help some people understand the joys of life and music. Now, I’m probably being a bit too emotional for a five-year-old, but if you’re ever curious or want to stay in touch, my name is Mimi Shong, and I’d love to hear you play someday. Your parents are probably worried sick about you, why don’t you go back to them, hmm?”

From that moment on, even though he was given a very tedious scolding for running off on his own, Chenle knew what he wanted to do. After landing himself a spot with the nation’s top piano teacher, it was time to initiate exactly what Miss Shong had taught him. 

_-_ ❐ _-_

His parents didn’t understand why Chenle practiced so much. They had read in countless parenting books that little children weren’t supposed to have an attention span for more than a few seconds, but the fact that their son was able to sit in front of an instrument for an hour seemed to contradict every other source they had checked. Was it abnormal for someone of his maturity level to remain still for that long?

Chenle never seemed to notice the amount of time he spent in his own world. After all, every time his fingers touched the keys, it was as if he was transported into an alternate reality in which he was the sole controller of everything in sight. In these worlds, Chenle was able to forget all of the things that haunted him, and focus only on the true bliss of music. When he let his eyes flutter shut, low and melodious hums of the lower octaves swept through his mind, accompanied by the twitter of a trill and the flowing harmonies of the treble clef. Scenes of majestic mountains and stories the young pianists would never have even dreamed of seemed to pour out of every measure that passed, and who was he to deny these fantasies from showing themselves? It was one of his greatest honors, being let into this picturesque universe that music brought him. 

If just one instrument wasn’t enough, Chenle also found ever growing interest in chamber and orchestra, expanding his horizons to every brass, woodwind, and stringed instrument he could find. At times, it was a bit much for him, and he had to remember to step back and relax. He one time found himself up in the attic, clutching a triangle with no recollection of how he had wandered up the stairs, and had vehemently lectured himself to remember his place in the present. 

While Chenle’s little imaginary world was his safe haven, he had to remember that it wasn’t an option to hide forever. At some point, when he started to outgrow his child’s clothes and sprout up in his shoes, the once carefree young boy started to feel the reality of his situation weigh down on him. Time grew increasingly spare, and with the expanding loads of schoolwork combined with his parent’s pestering about performance, Chenle started to grow farther and farther from his joyous days at the keyboard. 

It was to be expected that Chenle’s parents, in accordance with their business-oriented minds, would find some sort of way to force their child into the spotlight. He had an affinity for the art of music, and plenty of people paid to see these child prodigies in action. There was an opportunity, and the Zhongs were going to take it. 

However, they didn’t expect the process to be as challenging as it was. For some reason, every time Chenle was told to go up in front of a crowd, his knees would start to shake, stomach start to churn, and fingertips start to tingle. One way he described it was a fight-or-flight instinct, and he often felt so drained of energy afterwards that he needed to take a three-hour nap to recover. The first time he was put on the spot, it took every ounce of Chenle’s self-control not to scream out in terror, and he had collapsed and hit his head on the bench. Needless to say, that had been an unsuccessful performance, and after his father had finished making sure he was all right, Chenle had been bombarded with harsh words and reprimanded to “get over it.” Music was supposed to be Chenle’s release, but this form of it was just one of the things that would never work for him. 

His parents tried everything, from therapy to brainwashing, to try and get rid of this “amalgamation.” At some point, it had become a lost cause, and every action that they tried to take to fix it only caused Chenle to shrink into himself more. He knew just what kind of lecture he would receive every time his voice quivered or his palms shook, and that was one of the ways that he slowly started to train himself up to face the life of a performer. When his parents withdrew him from schooling only to have him start a world tour, it had both excited him and crushed him. Here was the opportunity to meet other like-minded pianists, but along with this opportunity came the usual flood of panic and petrifying fear. There would be millions of unknown faces staring at his every move, analyzing the curvature of his fingers, and the deafening applause after he finished performing would echo in his mind for hours long afterwards. It was all just too loud. 

What a shame, that the one thing Chenle loved more than anything else was also the one thing that dragged him down the most. If only he weren’t so goddamn cowardly, if only he were able to own up to his parent’s expectations, if only he could just forget himself in order to please others. 

But no, it was never that simple. It was always his fault, and always would be.

Chenle always found it strange that others around him sprouted romantic relationships. When interviewers always commented about his bright smile and how it would probably charm many girls, he would only shake his head and grin sheepishly. While articles inquired as to why he didn’t pursue anything with his millions of fans, Chenle merely shrugged, replying, 

“Music is my true love. Why would I need another?” 

No one had taken him very seriously, but they had moved on from the topic without a second glance, and for that Chenle was grateful. There was absolutely no use going over what didn’t need to be repeated. A significant other would only hinder his parents’ growing dreams, and there was no way in which Chenle could refuse his guardians’ wishes. Even if the Chinese male wanted to try it out, there was simply no time. 

  
  


_-_ ❐ _-_

While it was certainly well-known that Chenle was one of the most talented children of the century, he often wished that there was someone out there who didn’t judge him just for his extraordinary feats in music. It seemed like everywhere he went, he was advertised as the perfect son and the one that had so much in store. He was just about ready to get rid of the endless doting adults in his life, but he wasn’t strong enough to push them away. After all, what was there to him other than music? If one set aside all of Chenle’s achievements when it came to piano and other instruments, there was absolutely nothing special to him. He didn’t even make grades, let alone have a fixed group of friends! What kind of person would want to befriend a traveling musician anyways? Certainly not one who valued their sanity.

The issues of whether these people stayed with him due to reasons Chenle agreed with was another issue entirely, but sometimes fate decided to prove him wrong. There was a boy, Huang Renjun, who had always been… eccentric, to say it nicely. Similarly to Chenle, he was a social outcast at school, who the Chinese boy had met at some fancy dinner party for “aspiring young prodigies,” as it was marketed. Chenle was pushed away from his parents and towards some people “that would be around your age,” and while everyone else was already chattering away, no doubt reuniting with their friends or acquaintances from previous years, this one boy had been left alone. He had sparked young ten-year old Chenle’s curiosity, and out of hospitality, the child had gone to sit down with Renjun. They had exchanged formalities briefly, but quickly fell silent seeing as Renjun wasn’t keen on speaking. 

There were a lot of things that Chenle first noticed about Huang Renjun. Number one, he had an uncanny ability to predict the future, and paired with his piercing eyes, it felt as if he could stare through time itself. Number two, he was relatively short compared to other boys their age, but made up for that in wit and sarcasm. Number three, he was very, very passionate about extraterrestrial life, and once Chenle got him talking, Renjun would not stop.

It was amazing how one question could cause a friendship to blossom. After they both found out they spoke the same mother tongue, Mandarin, conversation became much easier. When Chenle dropped a hint about alien movies, Renjun went on a whole tangent of biochemical basis, and while it was confusing to keep with all the information the elder was spewing, Chenle hadn’t felt scared or weirded-out at all. Perhaps he’d just met one of the most interesting people he could ever find.

While Renjun’s otherworldly knowledge never ceased to surprise Chenle, the thing he appreciated most about the other was his disregard for their “otherness.” During their first meeting, Chenle had expected the other to shy away, or just compare him to some other piano prodigy, but it seemed as if that fact was completely overlooked. Renjun had bulldozed through that roadblock as if it hadn’t ever existed, shrugging it off and replying,

“You’re a music kid, I’m an alien kid. So what?” 

Renjun became one of Chenle’s biggest supports throughout his adolescent years. The dinner party kept happening every year, and as they grew up, they became even closer. Renjun preferred to call over the phone rather than text (he had explained something about wavelengths and how they related to space, but Chenle hadn’t paid any attention to it) so oftentimes his late nights were filled with the sound of Renjun’s voice, lamenting about some person he saw at the store or the newest NASA report. 

Chenle had once confided in Renjun about his stage fright, and the conversation had gone on late at night, when the moon was round in the sky and crickets chirped serenely.

“Holy shit, that sounds really bad.” 

Renjun’s voice had quieted down at that, a few clicks of his keyboard picked up by the phone’s mic.

“It kind of is. But how do I fix it, gege? I can’t let my parents down.” 

“Uh, you can’t just fix this kind of stuff overnight. Sorry, but it sounds like something psychological.” 

Renjun had sighed deeply, the lid of his laptop clicking shut. Some shuffling was heard from his end, and Chenle knew that he had slid into bed. 

“But I’m on a time crunch! What if-” 

Chenle had panicked, raising the pitch of his voice until Renjun cut him off.

“It’s never a good idea to push these kinds of things. Trust me, I know. I used to have a dad, and apparently he was the nicest person you would ever meet. But he saw things, you know? He had a journal full of pictures of these monsters that only he could sense, and Ma used to tell me that we’d fight them off together. Apparently, one day a monster got the better of him, and he drove straight into a lamppost because they’d told him to.

But I know he could have gotten better if he had more time. See, the work he had was pressuring him to stop ‘daydreaming’ and get a move on it, and I know for a fact that it stressed him out more than it should have. I don’t want to see the same thing happen again, not to anyone who can’t help what their brain says is bad or not.” 

They’d both let the line go quiet after this, the feeling sinking in. Chenle took in a shaking breath, and whispered to the other,

“I’m sorry, ge. I didn’t mean to.” 

A small, light chuckle came from the speaker. 

“Stop, you don’t have to apologize. I told you this so you can learn from it, not get sad for me. I spent plenty of time crying over Ba, you shouldn’t have to do any more of that. Maybe we can work on it, together.” 

“Together, I like the sound of that.” 

  
  


_-_ ❐ _-_

So, Zhong Chenle was able to make a friend. The process of performing became easier after a while, but only when Renjun came to see his performances, holding up a big sign in the very back row that never failed to make Chenle giggle. Maybe it was the distraction, the confidence that someone else was there for him, or maybe even the promise of popsicles afterwards. Whatever magic Huang Renjun had brought into Chenle’s life, he was so ever grateful for it, and planned to return tenfold. 

Chenle came to Renjun’s debate tournament, Renjun went to his holiday concert. Chenle streamed Renjun’s sci-fi book podcast, Renjun recorded his playing. Chenle asked Renjun to see an alien movie, and Renjun surprised him with a handmade flute. It was a process of give and take, help for help, and Chenle grew so comfortable with his elder friend that he didn’t know what he’d do without the other. 

When the news hit him that Renjun was going to study abroad, Chenle had first cried. A lot. He couldn’t blame the other, he’d gotten a full scholarship to his dream high school, and his single mother struggling financially had exclaimed that it was a blessing from God. There was no room for Chenle’s selfish wishes, his need for a friend, the only person who truly understood him. 

Renjun had known that Chenle would take it badly, and they’d talked about it while walking through the local park. Renjun had grown substantially since their first meeting at the gala, sprouting up in his shoes and shedding his baby fat. Chenle didn’t hesitate when he called the other handsome, he had a pair of working eyes and knew that Renjun’s smile was cute. But he had never felt a twinge of his heart, that hook that all romance movies described with a crush, despite all the rumors that they were dating.

“You’re leaving and growing up, huh ge?” 

Chenle had chuckled then, but even that familiar sound was distinctly fake to Renjun’s ears.

“Aiiiii, I know you’re joking, but don’t hide your feelings from me. Talk, what’s on your mind?” 

The quirk of Renjun’s eyebrow was the final breaking point to the dam that held back Chenle’s emotions, and he let all the words flood out like the tears that finally made their way down his cheeks. 

“I’m scared. You’re gonna leave, I’m gonna lose my only friend. I won’t be able to play piano in front of anyone! You’ll forget about me, what am I gonna do then?” 

Renjun had pulled him behind a tree next to their path, engulfing the musician in a bear hug. The E.T-obsessed boy pressed a soft kiss to the other’s forehead, wiping the wet tracts lining his face. 

“Lele, if you think I can forget about you that easily, you’re underestimating my really good memory. I can recite the whole dictionary, what makes you wonder if I’ll be able to remember your name? I wouldn’t let myself do that, you mean too much to me. 

This whole new world is difficult for me too. I’m becoming an alien, not the ones that I’m so excited about finding, but an outsider. I know it’s going to be challenging for both of us, but I’m doing this for myself, and I need you to be happy for me, okay? Call me when you have a concert, I’ll be there. It’s not the same, I’m sure, but I will always make time for you just like we’ve always done.”

Renjun was rarely ever sappy, he preferred to stay under the safety of his jokes and teasing comebacks. But in this moment, he knew that Chenle needed him to be forthright, for both of their sakes. Even though they were in the middle of some public park, surrounded by grass and random flying insects, none of that mattered. 

“You promise you won’t let me slip away?” 

Chenle’s usually boisterous voice had dampened, slightly muffled by snot and a few shuddering breaths. He looked up at the elder, eyes full of vulnerability and fear. Nodding resolutely and holding out his pinky, Renjun cleared his throat, intertwining his finger with his friends’. 

“Promise on my life.” 

  
  


They’d held hands the whole way back to Renjun’s house, held hands as he made his way towards the airport. They’d held hands up the escalators, held hands as Renjun checked in his luggage. They’d held hands up to the security gate, but they knew they would have to let go. Even if neither of them were ready for it, fate had decided its course, and this was just one step in front of another. 

Chenle believed he was one of the best people at saying goodbyes. But little did he know, this ability wasn’t one that he would grow to love. In fact, this bittersweet skill would only serve him more pain, more hoping, and more tears in his heart.

_-_ ❐ _-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update: ~september 29


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